


fatherhood, godhood

by nise_kazura



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: (or an attempt at them), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Aphrodisiacs, Bottom Will Graham, Breeding Kink, Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, Episode: s02e12 Tome-wan, Hannibal Gorefest, M/M, Religious Themes, Snuff, Top Hannibal Lecter, or at least a little bit of it, the word daddy is used but it's not daddy kink, wound-fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-11-02 12:53:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20752964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nise_kazura/pseuds/nise_kazura
Summary: Will and Hannibal fuck over Mason's dying body. s02e12 tome-wan canon divergence.





	fatherhood, godhood

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Hannibal Gorefest event on Twitter!

_ “As a father shows compassion to his children,   
so the Lord shows compassion to those who fear him.” (Psalm 103:13) _

* * *

The first thing Will notices is the stillness.

It’s…wrong. Wolftrap has always been quiet, his little home an oasis of peace and calm. But he feels the absence of warm bodies like a hole in his chest. The silence brings with it a hollow sensation, like wind whistling through the gaps in his ribcage. He pauses at the doorway, waiting for doggy breath and wagging tails, the click of nails on the floor. Steps inside slowly, touching the door lightly before it can click closed.

He breathes in the silence before edging further in, eyes drawn to the shadows that tremor and bulge in the corner.

“Hannibal?” he calls out, that little ping in his brain telling him _ he’s here, he’s here, he’s here. _

At last, the light clicks on. 

“Hello, Will.”

(_Dramatic bastard _, Will thinks to himself.)

Hannibal’s smile is a calm, slight thing. A wolf hiding its fangs as it slips out from the shadows and into the moonlight.

Will inhales, deep, relaxing his shoulders. Lets that calm seep into him, slowly stepping closer, hands in pockets. Emulating Hannibal’s casual self-assuredness. Watching Hannibal with the same cautious glimmer of expectation that is directed at him.

Hannibal isn’t alone.

Mason turns to face him, the manic gleam in his eyes bleeding over the rest of his figure. Will observes his own sense of dislike and apathy from an outsider’s point-of-view, finding that he watches Mason the way a cat would watch a mouse running through a maze: distant, separate. Clinical. The way he knows Hannibal looks at his prey. Mason sways from where he’s seated on Will’s dusty, dog-hair-covered, refurbished armchair, and giggles.

“Why hello there! If it isn’t the baby daddy! Nice place you got.” 

Will ignores him. “What’d you give him?”

“A cocktail of psychedelics,” Hannibal answers, ever serene.

Will nods.

“...Why?”

A glint of silver in the low lamplight.

Will looks down at the scalpel being offered him, and back up at Hannibal, the hair on his nape rising in alarm.

“He took your chance at fatherhood away from you.” Hannibal answers his unspoken question.

It’s a fresh ache that’s still smarting. For just a second, Will lets himself think about it. Lets it show, gives Hannibal a taste of what he wants—he leans in, drawn in, enough to shift his weight forward, enough to lift a foot and step closer.

He stops before he can, and resolutely doesn’t reach for the blade.

“So did you.”

Something in him is still mourning, still cracks. It haunts the quiet of his stream with happiness unreachable, blue-eyed.

Hannibal tilts his head in that reptilian way of his.

“And yet you didn’t kill me when Mason gave you the chance.”

Mason laughs at the mention of his name.

Will doesn’t think of Jack. He doesn’t think of the state of his soul, his conscience, or his madness, even as it curls like smoke under the doorways, an insidious, internal invasion of the secure peace that had once been the pillar of his home. 

No, he thinks about the webpage he still has bookmarked on his laptop, on how to build a crib. He thinks about the dusty package in the back of his upstairs closet, unopened fly-tying gear.

He doesn’t voice any of his thoughts, doesn’t let them show in his eyes.

Instead, he asks, “Where are my dogs?”

“Upstairs.”

Will nods, accepting. Hannibal seems amused. Mason continues to laugh at nothing, drool glistening on his chin as his eyes turn about wildly in his head.

“Worried about your pack, Will?”

“Worried I’m gonna have to kill you again.”

The corner of Hannibal’s eyes crinkle, his face lifting.

“That implies you succeeded before.”

“Didn’t I?”

They circle each other like hawks.

“The you that was you before is gone, Hannibal. He’s dead.”

“Rebirth. Is that what you think you’ve given me?”

“You disagree?”

“Rebirth is what I have given _ you _, Will. I entombed you, then let you rise from the grave, resplendent.”

Hannibal smoothly exits their delicate dance, stepping towards Will. Will stares him directly in the eyes, unflinching and unafraid. Hannibal shivers.

“What you have given me is something much more.”

“And what would that be?” Will asks.

Hannibal brushes a curl behind Will’s ear.

“Oh, Will.”

And stabs Will in the neck with a needle.

Will clutches at Hannibal’s arms, knees buckling as the drug rushes through his system. His eyes are ablaze, trained on Hannibal’s face as though he could find all the answers hidden there.

“What—”

“Just a little something to help you relax. You know, Will, you worry too much.”

Will’s silent, jaw working, budding anger blooming across his face in red as he stumbles and his knees hit the ground. Mason hoots, face purpling as his laughter steals his breath away from him. It shatters like a bullet through the intimate world of Hannibal-Will, and so Hannibal turns to face him, still holding Will in his arms.

“Lie down, Mason.”

Mason looks up at Hannibal quizzically before getting up and lying down on Will’s hardwood floors complacently.

Hannibal glances down at Will, whose hands tighten around his forearms reflexively.

“Excuse me a moment,” he says, unceremoniously leaving him to collapse onto his hands, and walks over to crouch next to Mason, handing Mason his father’s knife.

He appears to think for a moment, before saying in a cavalier voice, “Mason, I would like you to cut off your face.” 

Mason’s nonsensical humor seems to overtake him as he crows with absurd delight.

“Cut off my face?”

“The dogs will be hungry later,” Hannibal explains, thoughtful, as though ruminating the contents of a grocery list, “You know how to cut bacon, don't you Mason? Your father showed you how.”

Will groggily looks up at them, thinking, _ no. No. _

“Okay!” Mason positions the blade under his eye, and presses down. Will watches as the shadows that inhabit the corners of his vision overtake it, rushing over, drawn towards the smell of blood and swarming over Mason’s features as he laughs, and laughs, and laughs.

Will feels cold and hot all over. He should be recording this. Calling Jack. Doing something. But everything has gone all wobbly, the world tilting. He struggles to just stay on his hands and knees, limbs trembling as his disorientation increases and his body temperature rises, enough for him to break out in a sweat. 

As the scent of rust fills the air, he feels his cock stir. 

“Something—to relax?” The words are hard to form, congealing on a thick tongue like coagulating blood. Hannibal hums in affirmation.

“Nothing life-threatening, I assure you. Really, do you think I’d do that to you?”

It isn’t reassuring at all. 

Mason cackles.

“Dr. Lecter wouldn’t hurt you,” he slurs, “he likes you waaaaay too much Willy boy!”

Everything around him seems to crackle with energy, his skin alight with sensation, with every brush of cloth and breath. He has to concentrate to keep his hips from moving, from seeking out friction.

“Thank you for your vote of confidence, Mason,” Hannibal responds. “Keep working on your face.”

“Yessiree!” Mason does a mock salute with the knife. Will is watching as Hannibal’s Italian leather loafers come closer.

Hannibal gently lifts Will’s head with two fingers under his chin, so he can inspect the flush on Will’s cheeks more closely. The touch sends shivers through Will, electric. Hannibal’s nostrils flare as he smells the effect of the aphrodisiac on him. Will’s unbidden arousal hangs in the air between them, a cloud of heady desire.

“Didn’t think…this was your style, Dr. Lecter,” Will pants.

Hannibal drops his hand to loop his elbows under Will’s arms, lifting and dragging him over to Mason. Will’s feet scrabble beneath him, trying to regain the control he’s lost.

“Oh this isn’t for me, Will. This is part of your therapy.”

Will lets out a huff of laughter, near hysterical in its incredulity. He’s staring right into Mason’s face, hovering over him on his hands and knees.

“My therapy?”

This close, the scent of blood is much stronger. The madness buzzes like gnats in Will’s ears, and his heartbeat seems to sync with the ebb and flow of the shadows, all magnetized to the smell of prey. 

“You said you didn’t connect to the concept of family.”

“I...don’t.”

“Yet you yearn for one, constantly. Abigail. Margot’s unborn child.” 

Will stares into Mason’s dilated green-blue eyes and feels the sharp stab of hatred mingle with the heat that gathers within him.

“You have a very nice face,” Mason says. Then, with glee, he offers a piece of his own. “Wanna share?” He throws his head back and wheezes at his own joke.

The contempt is so strong Will is certain Hannibal can smell it on him. Cold sweat slicks down his back, making his clothes stick to his skin. He’s hyper-aware of everything: the grain of the wood beneath his fingers, the bite of denim at his knees, the sound of his breathing, of his heartbeat, the glister upon the surface of the pooling blood. The warmth of live bodies near him. Hannibal, kneeling next to him. Hannibal, always Hannibal.

His fingers drag through the black blood dripping onto the floor, feels it grow tacky between his fingers. Brings his hand up to his face, holding his breath, wondering at his own compulsion to lick. 

Hannibal brushes a hand down his back, going lower, lower, lower.

“That’s it, Will,” he coos.

_ This…could’ve been family,_ Will thinks, dazed. If Margot had conceived, Mason would’ve been the baby’s uncle. They would've shared blood.

Will would’ve been a father.

“He denied you that,” Hannibal says, coaxing.

...Had he said that out loud?

Will feels his belt buckle loosen, his zipper unzipping. His cock is given room to breathe, and it throbs.

“No…you. You did. You did this.”

_Margot, _ he reminds himself. The old wound aches. _Abigail__. _

“Ah, but you don’t want to kill me, Will. Not now that you finally find me interesting.”

He tells himself to move away, to resist, but he can’t seem to stop himself from grinding back into the warmth of Hannibal’s wide, firm palms.

“What do you…want from me?”

Hannibal’s nose traces down the back of his neck, his teeth making imprints on his nape. He presses the scalpel into Will’s bloody hands.

“This isn’t about what I want, Will. This is about you. Therapy only works when we have a genuine desire to know ourselves as we are. What are you, Will? Show me.”

Will stares down at Mason. Blood has covered the bottom half of Mason’s face. All that’s visible in the darkness now is the whites of his eyes and his pupils, rolling around every which way. The sound of Will’s belt buckle hitting the floor echoes in the room. His pants have been pushed down to his knees.

_ What are you? _

Will watches, standing outside his body, as he curls his fingers around the scalpel and rests it against Mason’s sternum.

“I wish you could see yourself as I see you, Will. Your untouched purity, what you have the potential to bring into the world with nothing but yourself and the hand of God.”

There’s a slight scrape before the blade slices cloth, and then it’s slicing flesh. His lips part on a sigh as the blade sinks into Mason, as Hannibal’s slicked up fingers sink into his ass. 

The buzzing grows louder. Whispers, _ see? See? _

Will’s mouth dries. He’s afraid to swallow, to lick his lips. Afraid of the tainted air he filters through his lungs. Afraid that if he blinks too long the blood will transport him back to Garret Jacob Hobbs’s kitchen.

_ The inevitability of there being a man so bad that killing him felt good. _

The words echo in his head, the premonition bouncing around in his skull. He doesn’t _ feel _ untouched or pure. He feels dirty, soiled. Hannibal’s fingers find Will’s prostate and press down, cruelly. Will tenses, shivering with the sensation, and Hannibal breathes shallowly through his nose at the minute reaction.

Mason hoots, unable to control his mirth, and the movement of his chest pushes the blade further. Will’s eyes flutter at the sensation, at the soft give of pressure under his blade. He drags it down further, across the white belly. Gutting him, the way Abigail gutted Nick Boyle.

(Another child lost. Another chance gone. Another life taken from him.)

Gutting Mason Verger feels righteous. Like Providence. Blood wells up like a spring from rock. The blade is a live thing in his grasp. Deliverance, by his hand. 

“Beautiful, Will.” Lips nip at his ear, press against his jaw, wet.

His cock is so hard it hurts. 

Hannibal’s fingers drag themselves up and down his shaft, the touch light, teasing. Maddening.

Mason is inconsolably lost in the absurdly comedic lightshow his mind is giving him. He meets Will’s eyes, and his mouth widens in a grin.

“Oooh! You like that! You like that, Willy boy!”

Will’s hand sinks into the wet, squirming insides of his body. Will is up to his elbows in Mason’s guts. He can’t see much beyond his blurring vision and the low lighting, but he can feel it. The slipperiness, the wet squish. The pulse of a living body making room for him as he rummages around inside. There’s a slight smell. It makes his teeth ache.

Hannibal is a warm weight over his back, lips hovering by his ear, shushing him, whispering his inner thoughts to life. His cock pokes at Will’s back.

_ This is what you want, this is what you are, Will. You like this. You like this. _

“You like that! Haha! You like it!”

Will shivers as Hannibal works his fingers into him. Two, three. When did that happen? What’s happening? The unreality swells, pregnant. He is in the womb of a monster, a creature born in blood and gristle.

Mason’s skin shimmers with sweat. His breathing has quickened. He’s still grinning, still looking directly into Will’s eyes as he chortles. Watching as Will takes pleasure in bleeding him out, in being taken from behind.

Hannibal sinks into him in one long, smooth thrust. The burn lights up in the back of Will’s skull, races down his spine, makes him gasp and grit his teeth.

He _ is _ the monster. He _ is _the womb. He’s the dam, the sire, and the thing he and Hannibal have created threatens to burst from him, christened in gore. He can feel it pressing out from beneath his belly, the way his own hand presses inside-out against the tight drum of Mason’s stomach.

_ This is what you want, this is what you are— _

“Ooh, this is bad. This is very bad, Willy boy! You're gonna get in trouuuble, mhmm! Lots of trouble!”

_ —You like this. You like this. _

"You like that, huh, baby daddy? You like that!"

The heat grows. The shadows crow in delight. Every time Mason shifts, Will can feel the inner workings of his body move around his wrist. It’s warm, wet, wrapping around his arm. It moves, squirming, trying to keep its host alive. 

If he focuses hard enough, beyond it all there’s the sound of a baby crying. He reaches further in, trying to grasp it, trying to pull it out from inside. Trying to take back what was taken from him—the baby, the _ baby. _ Something in him cries out in anguish, still wanting.

“You like that! You like that!”

Hannibal grunts in his ear. Their bodies rock together. Will arches underneath him, pushes back. The burn, the openness is addicting.

_ That’s it, just like that, Will, good, very good. _

“Haha! Hahahaha! Ooh you’re enjoying this, aren’t you? You really like that don’t you?”

_ Yes, it feels good, doesn’t it? It feels powerful, doesn’t it? _

It feels good. It feels good. Will moans, pants. Clenches his fingers into a fist, opens it, closes it, feels the organs squirm through the gaps in his fingers.

_ You wanted to be a father, didn’t you Will? I’ll make you a father. I’ll give you a child. All the children—they’re yours. You could choose to save them. Just take it. Take it— _

“—Like a bitch! Bred like one of my pigs!”

The force of Hannibal’s thrusts has Will lowering his hips. 

His cock pokes at the incision, blood smearing over the tip.

Mason’s belly laughter vibrates up Will’s arm. It’s mocking. Degrading. 

Will’s cock twitches in response. He thrusts down and back, fucking into the warmth of Mason’s open body and back onto the heat of Hannibal inside him. The schlop of his cock moving through viscera, the slap of Hannibal’s balls to his ass, incenses him. Revives him. The pleasure mounts as he moves, trapped between two horrors of his own making.

_ Just like that, Will. Just like that. _

The rush of power is dizzying.

Mason’s movements slow. The blood flow is sluggish. His skin looks pale, bluish, and damp. He’s panting now. 

An unnameable feeling rises up inside of Will, choking him with its intensity. It feels heavy with gravitas. It makes his heart ache, his chest hitch, his eyes water. 

_ Watch. _

Hannibal’s cock brushes against his prostate and he tightens in response, eyes wide. Watching. Unable to tear his eyes away.

“Look up, Mason.”

Mason looks up. He sees two dark figures, intertwined. They’re both smiling at him, baring their teeth. He smiles back.

Will reaches in, breaks the barrier of his diaphragm, grabs, and _ pulls. _

The noise in his ears crescendos, peaks, then cuts out.

He sees the moment the life leaves Mason’s eyes, and cums so hard his vision whites out. His entire body clenches up and releases, trembling. He wonders if in that moment he saw what Mason saw—the light at the end of the tunnel, rushing towards him.

That unnameable feeling runs through him again, and tears drip down Will’s face.

He looks down at Mason, whose features no longer looks so detestable to him. Death has gentled the uncanniness of his gaze, cast him into Will’s favor.

He collapses on his side, into the pool of cooling blood. Holds his hands up to his face, rubbing his fingers together to feel the drying blood as it flakes off. Rubs at his eyes, wiping away the tears and smearing blood across his skin.

Hannibal kisses his cheek, reaches down to push his cum back into Will’s sloppy hole, humming in content.

“Will you save them all, Will?” he asks.

Will stares at his hands for a long time. He’ll have to throw his shirt away. Buy a rug for the floor. Decide which cut of Mason to give Hannibal. Hannibal would want to hold a celebratory dinner, Will knows. Mason's face bacon lies around him, like petals. The dogs need to be fed.

He’s shaking. His limbs feel even weaker than they did before, though he knows the drug must be wearing off as his mind grows clearer. The afterbirth of pleasure. The aftermath of his forgiveness.

_ What are you, Will? _

He's disgusted. Horrified.

...Powerful.

He listens to the rush of blood in his veins over the deafening silence of the cooling body by his side. He knows what Hannibal wants him to say.

_ What are you? _

Hannibal intertwines their bloody fingers, waiting. Finally, Will curls his fingers around his.

“God,” he whispers, invokes. “God.”

* * *

_ “I give them eternal life, and they will never perish, and no one will snatch them out of my hand. My Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all, and no one is able to snatch them out of the Father's hand. I and the Father are one.” (John 10:28-30) _

**Author's Note:**

> Many many thanks to [itspixiesthings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itspixiesthings), [BelladonnaWyck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelladonnaWyck), and [ishxallxgood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishxallxgood) as well as some people who asked not to be mentioned, for helping me look over this fic! i was super nervous abt posting this bc it's my first hannibal fic, but i hope yall enjoyed the wild ride lol 
> 
> if u feel so inclined, u may find me on twitter [@nise_kazura](https://twitter.com/nise_kazura) :)


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